


Shiver - Coldplay

by EnduringChill



Category: Inception (2010), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Insecure Arthur, M/M, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Pining, Starbucks, To Be Continued, TwelveinTwelve2016, sexy Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringChill/pseuds/EnduringChill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The March prompt is about coffee houses/cafes. In February, we saw John and Sherlock reconnect at a Starbucks. They weren't the only story at that Starbucks. Arthur is a barista in love with one of this customers, Eames.</p><p>2016 Mixed Tape series<br/>Side One: Track Three</p><p>Shiver - Coldplay<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otNqnVgEs9M</p><p>Lyrics below</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiver - Coldplay

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle as this is my first attempt with the Inception universe. It's a little crossover with Sherlock fandom. I need to thank callie4180 and 221bjen for their tireless encouragement. They really propped me up in moments when I wanted to metaphorically crumple the paper and bin it. Then after all the support, they were kind enough to be editors. You should read everything they do as they are far superior to my drabble. 
> 
> It is my hope that this story will continue as prompts allow. I have a few things planned....
> 
> Thank you for reading. I would love comments as this is my first foray into a different fandom. I have a few ideas for fiction within the Sherlock and Inception realm. 
> 
> Thank you!

So I look in your direction,  
But you pay me no attention, do you?  
I know you don't listen to me.  
'cause you say you see straight through me, don't you?  
And on and on from the moment I wake,  
To the moment I sleep,  
I'll be there by your side,  
Just you try and stop me,  
I'll be waiting in line,  
Just to see if you care.  
Did you want me to change?  
Well I changed for good  
And I want you to know.  
That you'll always get your way  
I wanted to say,  
Don't you Shiver?  
Shiver  
Sing it loud and clear  
I'll always be waiting for you,  
So you know how much I need you,  
But you never even see me, do you?  
And is this my final chance of getting you?  
Sing it loud and clear.  
I'll always be waiting for you.  
Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.  
For you,  
I will always be waiting.  
And it's you I see, but you don't see me.  
And it's you I hear, so loud and so clear  
I sing it loud and clear.  
And I'll always be waiting for you.

Arthur checks his wristwatch. It's time to go back. He pulls the green apron over his head and ties it loosely around his slender waist. Ariadne snaps her gum behind espresso machine. Arthur checks his watch again. In one minute, she will need to move to the register. He needs to be the barista between four and six. Arthur had arranged it with his manager, Dom. Every weekday, Arthur was to be stationed at the espresso machine….for when he came in.

It had been six months since Arthur had walked out of work on a Friday and never returned. Ten years of high powered mergers and acquisitions at his law firm had been enough for him. He had walked across the Harvard Law School stage to claim his diploma, and directly into one of the hottest law firms in London. According to chatter around the cooler, he was to be next in line for managing partner. Burnt out and tired of watching companies be downsized or broken into pieces to be sold to the highest bidder, Arthur had packed the few personal items he had kept in his office and left for the weekend. Saturday morning, he had resigned, then slept for a week. On the following Monday, he had sat at his breakfast table and wondered, what could be next? 

Arthur had thought about the cafe he visited on his way to work. He had marveled at the efficiency and ease of the barista who stacked up cups and fluidly called out names for pick up. Many times, Arthur had envied those cafe workers with their easy banter and clear objective. They made coffee and through that, they made people happy. 

Dom, the manager, had looked at Arthur as if he was off his nut. Also an ex-pat, he hired Arthur straight away, despite the fact the barrister was wildly overqualified. The following day, Arthur had strapped on a green apron, and a Starbucks career was born.

As expected, the thrill of serving the perfect coffee drink had worn off quickly. Arthur was no longer the stuffy suit ordering the coffee, but he was on the receiving end of the stressed out barristers and stock brokers that barely made eye contact let alone spare a ‘thank you’. 

Arthur had been ready to hand in his resignation and move on to the next ridiculous idea when he walked in. It had been late on an afternoon, a shift Arthur didn't typically work. Usually when he was behind the espresso machine, he would barely look up at the line. For some reason, he had looked up that day. Only four people waited while Yusef took the orders. 

The man wasn’t tall, dark or mysterious, but rather short, bright and extremely loose. His grey trousers stretched tight across a taut ass and front. Arthur’s cheeks had warmed when he realised he had been gazing at the bulge in the man’s pants. The crisp light blue shirt had been unbuttoned just enough to show a peek of chest hair and a swirl of black ink. Arthur had swallowed roughly, and turned back to the latte. He tried to not think about the toothpick between the man’s full lips. Yet, he could not help watching the man approach the register out of the corner of his eye.

The man always had a smile which seemed to brighten for Arthur. He would call everyone ‘darling’ and ‘love’, and was painfully polite. Arthur remembers the rush of heat when he had heard the gravelly voice say, ‘thanks darling’ to him. With a wink, the man would leave.

After that day, Arthur had insisted that he work the bar after four o'clock. He started making notes of the man’s patterns and favourite drinks. If the man looked tired, he ordered a venti mocha. On particularly sunny days, he enjoyed a vanilla latte. Arthur made all of his drinks with the utmost care, and hoped one might prompt a conversation. On rare occasions, the man sat at the table by the window, facing Arthur. Yet, the man would be busy on his phone or with a newspaper. Arthur knew that he needed to say something, someday, as he could not work at Starbucks indefinitely. 

Arthur checks his watch again. It's rather busy for a late afternoon. His eyes catch on a striking man with dark curls and surreal aquamarine eyes. The man stuffs his hands in the pockets of his long wool coat and dissects everyone with his gaze. Arthur has seen him in here a few times before. Perhaps if he wasn't so besotted with his compact force of energy, he would fancy this lanky man with the coat. 

“Double espresso,” the deep voice tells Ariadne at the register. 

Arthur is always surprised by how rich the the lanky man’s voice is, as if he could feel the words ‘double espresso’ resonate in his own chest. Arthur pulls a short paper cup down from the stack. The tall man always takes his drink to go.

His attention returns to the top of his espresso machine. Double espresso, macchiato, mocha, Americano. The door opens, but a collection of girls push through. Arthur glances at his watch again. 4:22. 

Some days, Arthur would wait past six but the man never comes. It was a rare occurrence, but heartbreaking all the same. Arthur knows that after half four, the chances of him coming in diminish. If it reaches five, the chances drop below 30 percent. After half five, Arthur becomes surly and short tempered.

The tall man with luscious curls moves around the counter to wait for his drink. Arthur gives him a curt nod before frothing milk for a mocha. Curls watches him for a moment before his eyebrows shoot up and something distracts his focus.

“Double tall vanilla latte,” Ariadne calls.

Arthur recalls the order back to her. Curls steps toward a shorter man with sandy hair. It's an awkward exchange of an aborted hug and a bizarre handshake. Arthur can't remember ever seeing the lanky man ever talk to anyone. 

The man with the curls stares intently at the shorter man as they talk. They both are flushed and avoid each other's eyes. A past exists between them, Arthur ascertains that much. While he watches them dance around each other, it manages to take his mind off the door. 

“Double espresso,” Arthur calls. He offers the tall man a tight smile who barely pulls his eyes from the shorter man to acknowledge his drink.

“Frappucino!” Ariadne calls. 

The next time Arthur looks up, the shorter man sits at a table alone. Arthur squints. It's his man’s usual table. Panic floods Arthur’s being. Can he ask this man to move, or just go away?

Arthur looks at his watch. 4:40. He should have said something to the man yesterday. He had been so close to saying something beyond ‘Have a nice day’. He's kicking himself now.

He cleans the bar of milk spills and coffee grinds. The afternoon rush is over, and the likelihood the man will be in today diminishes with each passing minute. 

“Can you wipe some tables?” Dom asks.

“But what if someone orders a drink?” Arthur protests. Why was Dom asking this? He knows that Arthur doesn't leave the espresso machine from 4pm to 5pm. 

“Ariadne can handle it,” Dom replies.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. Dom nods to the seating area. With a heavy sigh, Arthur grabs a rag and moves from behind the counter. This might be the last straw for Arthur. It's not like he ever had a chance with that man anyway. After all, in that man’s impossibly indigo eyes, Arthur is just a barista. Maybe if he had bumped into him while wearing his bespoke suits, the man would have noticed him. Arthur might as well quit and surrender the fantasy.

He wipes one table so furiously that he might wear the varnish off it. When he glances up, he sees that the tall man with curls has returned and sits beside the short man. They look very engaged in a serious conversation, but Arthur sees the glimmer of hope in their eyes.

When the door opens, Arthur picks his head up to see him saunter through. All time stops for a moment. The man looks beautiful in grey trousers and navy silk shirt. A silver tie hangs loosely around his neck. Arthur can imagine the man’s thick fingers digging into the knot and pulling it away from his neck as he leaves his office. He's so busy staring that he nearly forgets to rush back behind the counter. His hip bumps into a table, sloshing a cup of tea. Arthur mutters an apology as he mops up the spill. Dom steps from the back room toward the espresso machine.

“I got it! I'm here.” Arthur rushes over.

Dom raises his hands. “Just trying to help.”

“I'm fine,” Arthur mutters. He takes a deep breath. Today has to be the day. Arthur had promised himself that if the man came in after 4:30 that he would talk to him, maybe even introduce himself.

“Venti white mocha,” Ariadne calls.

“Venti white mocha.” Arthur looks up to the man's stormy blue eyes on him.

“Thanks, darling,” the man smiles at Ariadne but winks at Arthur.

The heat in Arthur’s cheeks is not from the steamer. He reminds himself that this how the gorgeous man talks. Everything is ‘darling’ and ‘love’, but it means nothing. He's said them to Yusef, Dom, Ariadne and to him. Always said with a sly grin and a cheeky wink. Arthur wipes the moisture from his brow. Suddenly, the cafe has become unbearably hot. He watches the man move around to the other side to wait for his drink. Usually, Arthur is not only efficient but the quickest barista on staff. However when the man comes in, he slows down to a mere crawl in order to soak up as much time with alluring man as possible. 

Most days, the man taps away on his phone only to look up when his drink is called. Sometimes he's on a call and Arthur is lulled by rough edges of the man’s voice, smooth with a gruff layer in some words. ‘Darling’ rolls easily off his tongue and usually without affection behind it.

Today, he doesn't bury his nose in the phone or focus on a call. He watches Arthur with sharp interest, and it unnerves Arthur enough that he spills a drink all over the machine.

“Shit,” Arthur grumbles. He wants to quit this moment. It's not like he needs the money, he has a rather nice nest egg. He's here to experience life and to wait for this dapper bloke to brighten his day.

“Are you alright, mate?” The man asks.

“Yeah, just slipped.” Arthur clears his throat as he mops up spilled milk.

“That wasn't mine, was it?” The man offers a sly smile.

“No, no. It will be just a few minutes.” Arthur’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“It's fine, love. I'll just enjoy the view,” the man says with a sly grin.

Arthur realises that the man is looking directly at him. He offers a small smile as he goes back to work on the line of drinks. Before the spill, he only had three drinks to make. Ariadne has placed three more on top of the espresso machine during his fumbling. Now Arthur will not have time to think of anything witty to say or even introduce himself. And it's Friday. He'll have to endure a long two days before possibly seeing the man again.

Biting his lip, Arthur grabs a cup and scrawls his name and phone number on it. This man seems a bit cheeky, so perhaps this will pique his interest. Arthur smiles to himself for such a bold move. Daydreams fill his head about the man setting the number and fumbling for his phone. The call would come as Arthur is walking home and they would agree to meet somewhere for a drink. Or the man would rush back into the store, and ask him to dinner after his shift. 

But what if the man never calls? Would if he throws the cup out before even seeing Arthur’s name and number? 

Unfortunately, Arthur is so lost in his daydreams that he doesn't realise that he pours a caramel macchiato into the the cup with his number and places it on the counter. “Caramel macchiato!” he calls.

An older woman with a tight bun picks up the cup and spots the scrawl. Her eyes give Arthur an appraising sweep before she leaves. Arthur doesn't realise his mistake until it's too late. He stares after her retreating form helplessly. What can he do? Call her back and tell her the cup is actually for the gorgeous man waiting ever so patiently at the bar?

“Arthur!” Ariadne’s voice cuts through his thoughts. His head snaps in her direction. “Grande mocha frappuccino!”

“Grande mocha frappuccino,” he grumbles, taking a weary look at the line forming. 

He feels the weight of the day on his shoulders. The line is four deep and not likely to order straight drip coffee. He has no time to chat up the man, whose eyes bore a hole through his heart. Never mind the fact that he's acted like a complete idiot.

“Arthur, is it?” The man asks.

Arthur freezes while frothing milk. “I'm sorry?”

The man licks his full lips. “Your name is Arthur. I've always took you for a David or maybe a James.”

“Uh,” Arthur’s mouth hangs open. “Uh, no. It's Arthur.”

The man smiles. “I like it. It suits you.” He extends his hand across the counter. “I’m Eames.”

Arthur’s head spins and he stares at the outstretched hand as it were a dead fish. It’s finally happening and Arthur is making a mess of things. Mentally, he slaps himself hard and takes Eames’s strong hand, nearly knocking over yet another drink in the process.

“Pleased to meet you,” he replies, hoping his voice isn't as shaky as it sounds to him.

Eames winks and leans against the counter. “I've been coming to this Starbucks for a year, and your drinks are by far the best.”

Arthur knows his cheeks are nearly maroon. “Thank you.”

“American, yeah? Were you so good that they transferred you from the States?” Arthur swears Eames’ eyes twinkle. 

“No,” Arthur chuckles. “I worked elsewhere. That brought me over.” 

Suddenly, he doesn't want anyone to know that he had been top in his class, the smartest lawyer at his firm and now he's slinging coffee. Once Eames finds out that that he's the only reason Arthur has stayed, he'll never step foot in the shop again.

Eames’ eyes roam across Arthur slowly. “I'm glad it did.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Do you work around here?”

“On the corner at Saito Publishing.” Eames’ full lips draw disappear into a straight line. His broad shoulders round as if folding together.

For a second, the confident and flirtatious man slips away. Arthur can feel that it's all going to be over before it begins.

“Do you live nearby?” He blurts out, then immediately winces. It's too much, too forward.

Eames smiles. “Why, Arthur…”

“Arthur!” Dom hollers. “What are you doing?”

Arthur's head whips in his manager’s direction. He had been so busy with Eames that he hadn't realised a long line forming at the register. Cups line across the top of his espresso machine and down the counter. Arthur counts at least eight drinks in the queue. He looks down at the drink in front of him - venti white mocha. Once Eames gets his drink, he'll be gone again. Arthur will have to wait two interminable days before possibly seeing him again. With a heavy heart, he pours the frothy milk into a cup and pops a cover on it.

“Venti white mocha,” he announces weakly and places the drink in front of Eames.

“Ah, bless you,” Eames winks. He takes a sip and closes his eyes in bliss. “Arthur, this is divine.”

Arthur smirks. “It’s just coffee.”

“But heavenly coffee.” Eames looks to the large crowd gathering around the counter. “I should let you get back to work. I mustn't hog you for myself.”

But I'm only here for you, Arthur wants to say. His eyes shift over to a definitely unhappy Dom. Arthur never has a line, no matter how busy it is. Eames has been the wrench in his usually well-oiled machine.

“Maybe we can get a drink sometime,” Eames says. “When you're not working.”

Arthur's mouth hangs open. He's absolutely positive that everyone can hear his heart pounding against his rib cage.

“Uh, sure…,” he stammers.

“Iced venti vanilla latte!” Dom hollers from the register.

“Have a good weekend.” Eames smiles and takes his drink to condiment bar to sprinkle cinnamon on top of the foamy milk.

It feels as if the walls are collapsing around Arthur. What if Eames meets someone else in the 72 hours until he comes back in? What if he never does? Arthur can barely think over the din in the cafe. With his forearm, he wipes his damp brow. 

“Arthur! Iced venti vanilla latte!” Dom bellows.

With a shaky hand, Arthur reaches for a cup. He watches Eames swirl a bamboo stick in the drink and replace the lid. He licks the stirrer and drops it in the trash. With a smile, he raises a hand to wave.

“How about now?” Arthur calls.

Eames’s head weaves and bobs between the crowd cluttering Arthur's counter. “What?”

“That drink.” Arthur tries to see Eames. He leans forward and nearly across the counter. “How about now?”

Eames laughs. “Aren't you just a tad busy, darling?”

Arthur would walk across heated broken glass for that smile. “I don't care.”

“Jesus, Arthur! What's gotten into you?” Dom storms over.

Arthur drops the cup on the ground and reaches around his waist to untie the green apron. “I quit.” He drops the apron beside the cup.

“What? You can't! Look at the line!” Dom cries.

“Are you free right now?” If Arthur is turned down now, he will pack his things and return to America.

Eames grins broadly. “For you, absolutely. You're certain about this?”

“Definitely.” Arthur beams as he slips from behind the counter. He doesn't care about the boos and hisses.

“Don't expect a good reference!” Dom snarls.

“I don't need your reference.” He waves to an astonished, and jealous Ariadne. “Sorry. I will make this up to you!”

Tomorrow, Arthur will write her a cheque for 100 pounds for having to deal with an irate Dom.

Without a single glance back, Arthur follows Eames out the door. He doesn't care about the jacket hanging in the back room. He'll buy another. 

“I can't believe you just quit.” Eames shakes his head. 

Arthur chuckles. “It's the second job I've resigned from in six months.”

Eames gives him a long side glance. “Bit of drifter, are you?”

“If you say.” Arthur looks down at his white shirt splattered with light brown coffee stains. “I'm a mess. I should change.”

Eames places a strong hand on the back of his neck. His thumb brushes just under the collar of his shirt and moves closer. Arthur body comes alive under the rough pads of Eames fingers. He smells of sweet sweat and a spicy cologne that might be too strong when first applied. 

“You won't need to change where we're heading, love,” Eames’s hot breath curls in Arthur's ear.

To be continued….


End file.
